Local elementary school hosts a student night at a neighboring city’s college hockey game. Local family decides to attend.

As it turns out, this was a playoff game. The Hockey East Quarterfinals to be exact, and potentially, a series clinching game at that. One that would send the local boys onto the semifinals being held at the TD Garden in Boston, MA — home of the Boston Bruins. The point is that this was a huge game for the home team, the Umass Lowell River Hawks.

The team in blue whose fans rally behind the phrase “code blue,” and show it as much in team apparel and social media alike. A code representative of team whose work ethic and resiliency are arguably second to none. A team of role models for my boys.

Walking through the parking garage after a thrilling, series clinching victory in overtime by the Umass Lowell River Hawks over the Maine Black Bears to advance in the Hockey East Championship Tournament, my son dropped this line on me just as we were approaching our car. As I opened the door to let him in, watching him skip up to his seat with an enormous smile on his face as he clutched the game-night poster in his hands, his “awesomest game ever” line playing over again in my head, I had the sudden urge to lift the car over my head and begin running home while chanting, “U-M-L!”

He crashed hard into the forest ground for what had to be the hundredth time that day.

This time, he didn’t move. Exhausted both physically and mentally, he left his head down on the cold ground, his arms and legs splayed out erratically to the side as if he had been shot. Tears began to well up inside of him as he contemplated giving up for the first time in his short career.

“What was the point?” he asked himself while lying there, prone and lifeless. ”Maybe this will be my final resting place?” he pondered as his body temperature dropped, rapidly and unchecked.

Drawing upon what little reserve of spirit he had left in his body, he slowly picked his head up off of the ground, dirt and snow covering the side of his face, and looked ahead to see if his partners were still within sight.

It all started a few weeks ago as I followed the happenings of a dad summit that some of my fellow dads were attending. It all started out innocent enough, but at some point the whole thing flipped on its head for me and I started asking myself, “Who exactly are these presenters and why should we be listening to them?” That’s when it all started to go wrong.

I couldn’t get the image out of my head of this one dad standing up on stage, casually dressed and looking sharp in his Gap attire with a hands-free microphone attached to his ear, about to drop some knowledge on his audience. I couldn’t help but think how unqualified I was to be standing in his position. The real problem was though, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking if the guy on stage was qualified either.

Every once and a while I write a selfish post, and this happens to be one of them.

I write for me in that I want to remember exactly how I feel at this moment, especially when I’m older.

I want that guy, who is probably dealing with the unimaginable task of raising high school teens, to remember what this guy, happily managing father of 2 awesome boys, holds dear. Without a doubt, the following thoughts come with heavy influence from my parents, friends, cousins, and the family of four I get to be a part of on a daily basis. These thoughts are basically what’s most important to me as a dad and husband, right now.